


The Resurrection of the Past

by sian1359



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Cover Art, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Photoshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: Trader pilot (smuggler) Clint Barton, along with his crew were just looking for a new job. Clint never expected the one that Jacques picked would involve killing the love of his life, Jedi Phil Coulson.





	1. Fic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura Kaye (laurakaye)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/gifts).



> This is not the Star Wars fusion laurakaye was looking for. I just couldn't work with a master/padawan relationship between Phil and Clint. I did try to incorporate some of the elements of your suggestion, though; I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> There has been science checks as well as fabulous beta work, but this is the Star Wars universe, so I'm mostly playing by George's rules, not natures. Hand waving has been done. I also can never leave well enough alone after my beta is done. The fabulous beta work came from Himself and Auburnnothenna. 
> 
> I also need to thank the moderators of the exchange, as I blew the hell out of the timeline, twice. I appreciate their trust.

 

***********

"Vuchelle Control, this is the freighter _Carson's Carnival_ , recently out of Isiring, looking for permission to land."

 _Welcome_ Carnival, a gender-neutral voice boomed throughout the cockpit; probably a droid's. _What business do you have in Rystique?_

"Rutu Clan contract," Clint prompted Kate when she paused and looked over to him.

She nodded and leaned over her knees as she'd brought her feet up into the co-pilot's chair, to key the comm again. "Fulfilling a contract with the Rutu Clan, Control."

_Maintain orbit until we verify._

Clint set the board to keep the ship spiraling slowly above Vuchelle 3, keeping the spaceport as his focal point as the planet rotated below them. The contract was legit, so he had no concerns about not getting a berth. While Vuchelle was a major stop along the Braxant Run trade route, there weren't more than a handful of other ships also awaiting landing codes that he had to plot around. For something more to do while they waited, Clint ran passive scans on those other ships to see if any were friends – or rivals.

All five came back as strangers, four of them running under names similar to _Carnival_ and likely other traders. The fifth ship, flying as the _Radiant II_ , one of the Chancellor's own ships out of Coruscant, which was interesting, but why the Republic had sent their ship out here to the Outer Rim wasn't any of Clint's business.

It shouldn't be any of Jacques' either, but he knew Jacques and Buck would want to know.

He clicked on the intership communications. "Guys, we're waiting for our berth," he told them. "Five other ships in orbit. One is here on business for the Chancellor."

No response came back, but Clint hadn't expected on from either of the other two crew members. Kate's expression, however, turned apprehensive.

"Kate, it's not here for you. You're legally an adult and have every right to leave home," he reminded her. "You left your Dad a holonote and sent him a wave from your first port of call, so his people know you aren't missing or kidnapped. Even if he did decide to send someone after you, he'd send his own people, right? I don't see him running to the Chancellor for a favor or even using Senate Security."

Kate nodded, her expression brightening. "Not when it might embarrass him, or have his rivals think he's weak, you're right." She leaned back in her chair and shot Clint a grin. "I should make sure there is reason for the press to take some pictures during our stop. I doubt he's even told whoever is warming his bed this month that I walked out."

Clint sighed. There were a multitude of things he wanted to say to her about pissing off fathers or how choices could end up becoming traps, things he'd definitely learned the hard way. Some life lessons, however, needed to be experienced directly despite the heartache and pain they might cause. He didn't think she'd really listen and believe him anyway, as she was still too caught up in claiming her independence from a father that saw her as a holo opportunity and media release more than a daughter. Still, he should probably say _something_.

"Make sure you don't compromise yourself just to make him look bad," he warned. "You don't have to be an ass because he's an asshole."

"Hey, I leave that to y –" Kate stopped and suddenly sat up, her hands going to the comm panel in front of her. "Please repeat, Control," she said into the mike across her cheek.

 _You will be berthing in sector one, slot three seven_ , the traffic control droid informed them. _You have priority, but Radiant Two will be following you down. Prepare to link in twenty seconds._

"Affirmative, Control. Berth es one dash three seven." Kate confirmed, before removing her headset and dropping her feet to the deck so she could strap in.

" _Carson's Carnival_ beginning descent," Clint called out over both the internal and external comms as he flipped the switch that granted the port's ground systems interface access to his board. He then broke orbit and began the task of gentle aerobraking, using occasional thruster maneuvers to maintain his position relative to the spaceport. His piloting got them down to the last fifteen miles of altitude, then a light began flashing and the automated ground controls took over the actual landing.

Vuchelle was one of the few Outer Rim planets that had automated docking; something Clint wasn't all that fond of, given how take-offs and landings were normally the only engaging parts of piloting a space ship. Space itself was still interesting to Clint. But while he found the sparse, dark emptiness calming instead of depressing and desolate as so many others decried, any actual skill in piloting the ship only came into play in the vastness if he was negotiating an asteroid field, avoiding another ship, or interacting with a gravity well, like that surrounding a planet or sun. The Black represented freedom to his hindbrain even now, even if _Carson's Carnival_ had indeed become more of a trap than the escape he and Barney had once hoped it to be.

 

Boring though much of it was, piloting a spacecraft still beat out being a nerf herder or a moisture farmer, which had been the future facing him when he'd been a child on Waverly – assuming he'd been able to live long enough to take one of the jobs available to someone like him.

 

The ship set down. Clint didn't bother informing the others; they'd have felt it and he had enough to do resetting his board to a few non-factory presets once he cut the interface to the ground systems. As far as he knew, _all_ their business on Vuchelle was above board, but the ability to leave in a hurry and not necessarily with port control approval was one of Jacques' ironclad orders and had saved their necks a couple of times in the past.

Not that Clint wasn't growing tired of having to blast off worlds one step ahead of the authorities, tax collectors, or just pissed off customers or fellow traders.

For all that the Outer Rim was the new frontier and beyond all but the most basic of the Republic's rules, laws, and regulations, in truth the lawless 'freedom' meant that gangs and pirates stood in for law enforcement and regulators, and all too often demanded adherence to codes worse than most laws, and more complex types of payments than most taxes or licenses. Jacques liked to think he was one of those who got away with not toeing the line, but even Buck, when he got drunk enough, would sometimes admit that they only succeeded in their extra-legal business because they weren't worth the Hutts, Hydra, or any other major gangs or guilds' time or effort. He'd joke that they should rename their ship _Borrowed Time_ , because at some point, they would end up taking the wrong contract or flinting the wrong hand to where someone would decide to make an example of them.

Jacques and Buck had saved Barney and Clint from being sold off to pay their dead parents debts to the Hutts, but for the last year, Clint had been trying to convince Barney that they'd more than paid back any debt they owed.. If only Barney had saved even a little of his share of the ship's take, Clint had saved most of his own, and together they should have enough to buy their own junker ship. Nothing as large or tricked out as the _Carnival_ , but if they didn't take smuggling jobs or work the Outer Rim in general, they also wouldn't need to have the same level of weapons or defense systems. Even if Barney didn't have any savings, Clint thought it would only take a couple more off-the-book jobs to be able to afford something that could fly the trade routes. He could also use his money to buy off Jacques since they'd picked up enough skills to find work on another ship, but Clint didn't want to chance ending up with someone worse.

Buck wasn't too bad to work for, and Jacques had certainly taught them both more than they could have learned in any government training program without having to commit themselves to decades of military service. In fact, if Jacques would just stop looking for that one major payout that would allow him to retire in comfort on a planet like Corellia or Alderaan – would stop taking jobs that promised them everything at the expense of their lives – Clint wouldn't be so concerned with getting out.

Now, though, Clint also had to worry about what could happen to Kate, the kid he'd met several years ago on Coruscant, who'd been apprenticing under a former crew member as a grease monkey named Kit. At that time, none of them had known Kate had been disguising her gender as well as her identity, or that she'd been hanging around the docks in defiance of her father grooming her to eventually take his place within the Galactic Senate as Manhattan's representative. All they'd cared was that Kit had had a deft hand with mechanical systems, could coax higher performances than spec, and a knack for melding incongruent systems into working together. So when Jacques had decided it was time to add a permanent engineer to the crew a couple of months ago, the crew had unanimously chosen to approach with the offer instead of bothering with the for-hire boards. To Kate's credit, she'd disclosed she wasn't really Kit before she said yes – and told them she'd castrate them if they came on to her. She'd only admitted who her father was three days after they'd lifted from Coruscant, however, and then only to Clint.

Jacques was not going to be pleased if Clint left and managed to convince Kate or Barney to leave with him. If he managed to end up convincing them both …

"Clint, take care of the ship and prep it for takeoff in two days' time, then deal with the dock officials and the cargo transfer before taking Katie-Kit out to find a cheap coil-condenser replacement," Jacques ordered from the open hatch dividing the cockpit from the bulk of the ship. Buck stood behind him, the two of them dressed and armed to leave the ship.

"Buck and I will check back in the morning. If your brother shows up before we do, tell him to contact the Zodiac Combine and see what they want with us. Remind him, too, that our face-to-face with Batroc's Brigade is at sunset tomorrow at their local headquarters, and that if he's going to be late not to bother going. I don't want him blowing this deal for us."

"Yeah, okay," Clint responded without turning around. He didn't bother objecting to getting stuck with the rest of the work; it meant he'd also be receiving the funds for shipping cargo to the Rutu Clan and handling the disbursement to the crew, which meant he'd also have an opportunity to deposit most of his pay in the account the others didn't know he'd set up. The orders also showed that Jacques trusted him, and as the _Carnival's_ primary pilot, he interacted better with most dock crews anyway, unless they were looking for kick-backs or bribes. If, for some reason, someone did need to be paid off for their landing, as first off the ship, Jacques would be the one accosted and deal with it, while Buck stood behind him and made sure the deal didn't go sour.

If Clint happened to take a little longer in closing down his board than necessary to make sure Jacques would be the one bothered if it was going to happen, Kate didn't call him on it.

Once he was sure Jacques and Buck were clear of the area, he rose and stretched, then made his own way out of the ship after grabbing a small bag from under his seat, Kate on his heels. Every port outside of those on the Core Worlds, had human and alien kids hanging around in hopes of being tapped for some little job. Clint always used them; he didn't remember too much about his parents or his first six years of life on Waverly, but he did remember he and Barney being some of those kids during the weeks in between his parents' death and Buck finding them, and that whatever coin they earned had been the difference between eating or not for the day.

He tapped an indeterminately-gendered, threadbare-clothed Rodian first, gave him a treat from the bag and a small coin and then sent him off to the port master with a credit stick already coded to the port with the fees for berthing here for two days, with a promise of two more coins to add to the one he'd already handed over when the Rodian came back with the receipt. Several of the older kids, seeing one of their fellows getting paid, headed over. Clint gave Kate the bag so she could give each of them one of the sweets or a savory snack as she turned them away. At the same time, Clint looked over the ones who didn't try and mob them, and found a trio of younglings, a tall but still quite young female Shistavanen pup, a blue-skinned, a red-feathered Omwati male child, and a dark-skinned boy who couldn't have been more than five. As Clint approached them, he noted an older girl watching him closely, and gave that twelve or thirteen year-old a solemn nod of acknowledgement that he wasn't going to do something inappropriate.

The Shistavanen stepped protectively in front of the other two kids at Clint's approach. "Job, us?" she asked warily in broken Basic.

Clint nodded. "Do you know Rutu Clan?" he asked back in her own language. The smile he got back showed she still had one of her milk fangs, the other missing not because it had been broken off he was pleased to see, but mostly likely because her permanent fangs were close to coming in.

"Flower people?"

Clint gave her a large smile in return and nodded again. "Yes, the Ho'Din. Master Gardener Rutu."

"Let us play in dirt. Eat his grubs," the Omwati chirped enthusiastically. "Wizard plant garner guy."

"Will your pack be willing to deliver a message to Master Gardener Rutu for my pack?" Clint asked with a gesture to Kate and the _Carnival_.

The Shistavanen looked at the other two, then off to the older girl before nodding slowly. "Pay?"

"Yes." Clint pulled out a handful of small coins. "This now," and he handed them each two of the coins," more when the masters sends you back with his message."

"But no message back?" the Omwati asked.

"There will be, but you will still get two more coin if he doesn't send a message back," Clint said reassuringly.

"Clint?"

Kate's voice held a sharp tone that had Clint stepping closer to the kids instinctively at first. Their minder was heading their direction too, however, so Clint let her get them away like the rest of the dock rats were fleeing the area while he deliberately moved back toward Kate and the ship. The cause for all the concern, three humans and one Chadra Fan, were giving the _Carnival_ a close look that then fell on Kate and Clint before coming back to rest on Kate. Two of the humans' expression turned rude and eager, which had Clint quickly rethinking whether they'd been sent by Kate's father as he first suspected; he refused to believe that Senator Derek Bishop would hire someone who would think they could take advantage of his daughter. He then realized thinking that was foolish as well as naïve; what better way to have his daughter want to come home than to have her so threatened?

He and Kate were both armed with blaster pistols. Clint's had seen more use than he ever would have thought when he'd been younger and plinking at targets, and he made sure Kate trained now since he'd had no doubt she'd need to use one for real soon enough, not that he'd foreseen it being today. Clint also had a pair of expandable stun batons to use in close melee combat, and a vibro-knife even though it was illegal on most worlds. He wasn't sure what other weapons Kate might be carrying, but she _didn't_ have the modified bowcaster Clint had had custom-made for himself that she'd proven nearly as skilled in using.

"Unless you're from the Rutu Clan, we've got all the help we need today." Clint didn't bother to sound friendly or smile, and he kept his right hand positioned on the grip of his pistol.

"You Barton?" the largest of the humans asked.

Which one, Clint wanted to ask, not that he thought it would matter with these guys. As the pilot, he had little opportunity to rile customers or competitors, unlike Barney, Buck or Jacques, but he was no saint either, and had made his share of rivals if not enemies, over the years. He did tend to finish anything he started, however, and those who might still have it in for him weren't the type to hire out.

"Do you really care – "

"The crew of _Carson's Carnival_ had already disembarked and gone into the city," Clint suddenly heard from the other side of the ship. "You didn't find Barton or anyone else hanging around except the dock kids."

For a second, Clint froze. The words made no sense in this situation. Neither did the fact that the thugs were now looking at each other in confusion, their keenness for violence turning to disappointment.

"You need to look elsewhere," the bland voice continued. His words were repeated by the human that Clint had pegged as the leader.

Clint wasn't sure what to do. He was pretty sure he could drop all four of them now without Kate having to take a shot, but with the thugs no longer making threats or coming toward them, it'd be assault if not murder, instead of acting in self-defense. There was also this new arrival for Clint to worry about, someone who apparently worried the thugs enough to turn them away–

"Go. Boss won't like. Like less time we waste," the Chadra Fan growled before starting to stalk away. "Go!"

Okay, so the smallest of the group was the leader, not that that told Clint anything about who might have sent them. Or why they all ignored him and Kate, and were just walking away. Why Kate looked more anticipatory than concerned about this new potential threat.

Why Clint thought he recognized that unknown voice –

Seeing the man that appeared from around the end of the ship gave Clint his answers, as well as brought up a host of new ones.

The tales of how Jedi had certain mind tricks were just that in Clint's experience, just tales, but part of Clint's ignorance came from never having actually seen a Jedi up close before. Apparently the claim was true, at least in that this Jedi could confuse if not change the minds of a group of people. Kate's newfound calm also made sense, since she had spent most of her childhood either on Coruscant or her homeworld of Manhattan, which both hosted Jedi temples and training academies.

It was his own recognition of this Jedi, though, that kept Clint's mind spinning between relief and panic. He didn't just recognize this Jedi, he _knew_ him. Intimately. Not that he'd told Clint he was a Jedi when they'd met three or so years ago.

To be completely honest, they hadn't talked all that much over the week they'd spent together. But Clint distinctly remembered several brief conversations while they'd been eating between bouts of fun and athletic sex, including comparing the best ships to use when outrunning Republic authorities, and where to lay low while stuck in Hutt Space.

"Master Jedi," Kate greeted their savior. "Thank you."

"It's just Knight, not Master," the guy Clint had known as Flynt corrected her with a brief smile. "And you're welcome. I hope I wasn't too forward in breaking up the … conversation?" he then directed toward Clint, as if he was worried about showing him up or something.

Clint shrugged. "Anything that keeps weapons holstered is a good thing," he responded, his eyes flicking over toward Kate before meeting the Jedi's understanding gaze. "They didn't seem to care they had the wrong guy."

"I'm sure they did," the Jedi agreed with a warmer smile this time. "Jedi Knight, Phil Coulson," he introduced himself and offered a hand.

Knowing his face was heating from the warmth of the Jedi's grip as well as his smile, Clint gestured weakly toward Kate when he snatched his hand back. " _Carnival's_ mech wizard, Kate," he introduced her first. "I'm the pilot. Clint."

"Barton," the Jedi filled in with a twinkle in his eye.

Clint hadn't bothered coming up with a fake identity when he and Flynt/Phil had hooked up, but the Jedi could have just heard the confrontation from the beginning to get his family name. That was much more likely than a Jedi remembering some back-world tryst while working his undercover mission, no matter how much that week still meant to Clint.

"I'm glad I could help, and it's been a pleasure to meet you. I'd stay to try and help you figure things out, but I'm expected by the local office of the Galactic Finders Guild as soon as I can make it."

He truly sounded regretful, but then Clint had just had a perfect demonstration of how Jedi could make you believe what they were saying even when you _knew_ they were lying, so he imagined it was even easier when you wanted to believe them. Not that Clint wanted to think that, think about that – or about what else a Jedi could make someone think or do.

"Thank you again, Knight Coulson," Kate handled the goodbyes. "Clear skies and spacer's luck with the Finders."

"And may the Force be with you, Engineer Bishop, Master Pilot Barton. 'It’s not the days in life we remember, rather the moments.'"

 _Rather the moments._ So he did remember Clint, and remembered him fondly since there was no reason for him to offer a Neumexan farewell. Clint turned his face lest his expression gave him away to Kate, but she was too busy trying to keep her panic internal, at least until Jedi Knight Phil Coulson had left the docking area.

"Fuck, Clint! He knows who I am! He's – "

"He's not going to kidnap you, Katie. He's a … Jedi, not a mercenary."

Flynt had been the mercenary, basically, one of those guys you find at any spaceport who'd do whatever needed to be done for the credits. Clint hadn't actually pinned Flynt down on any particulars or lines not to be crossed during the week they'd spent together; Jacques had left Clint dirtside on Neumex to take some time and recover from a deal gone bad and Clint had been looking for some companionship, not a new hire.

"At worst, he'll tell your dad he saw you. And that you were just fine."

"He's right, you little idiot," yet another new voice spoke out, this time from atop the _Carnival_ behind them. "Senator Bishop would hire a bounty hunter to drag you back, not a Jedi."

Clint spun around in synch with Kate, but he reached out to push her blaster down when she reached up to aim it. Kate shot him a scandalized look of betrayal and resisted, but couldn't prevent him from disarming her.

"Tasha has a horrible sense of humor and a love of dramatic entrances, Kate, but isn't a threat –"

The bounty hunter's breathing mask filtered and altered the vocal range of the scoffing noise to something much deeper – and male sounding – just as it had her words, this time loud enough to drown out Clint's words. Even before the noise of derision, however, he had no doubt as to who was hidden behind the helmet, goggles, mask and genderless body armor, so he bowed his head toward the spidery figure in apology.

"Tasha is the most dangerous hunter in the galaxy," he corrected, "but she is no threat to you, Katie."

"S-she?" Kate stuttered.

The bounty hunter stood up straight then took two steps so she could slide down the body of ship to its wing. From there she executed a twisting aerial flip and landed deftly in a crouch on the tarmac. When she rose upright this time, she also whipped off her headgear and shook mounds of riotous red hair free to fall around an elfin face.

"Natasha Romanova," Natasha introduced herself. "I'm not here for you, Kate."

"You – you're not here for Clint, are you?" Kate asked, still anxious but now her tone also held a thread of warning that warmed Clint, even if he didn't feel he deserved such loyalty.

"Throttle back, Katie," Clint started, the same time Natasha said: "Not like you're thinking," which wasn't all that reassuring in Clint's mind, because it meant this wasn't just a happy coincidence.

"What's Barney done now?" Because Clint hadn't done anything over at least the last year to have thugs and the Black Widow, one of the Outer Rim's most notorious bounty hunters, come looking for him.

"Same thing he always does. He's let his avarice and ambition outstrip his common sense." Natasha's voice held even more of the scorn than it usually did when talking about Barney.

Clint's given up ever getting the two of them to like each other.

"He's poached a Secret Empire contract by telling them that he can deliver for them in two thirds of the time their current importers are handling it," Natasha continued.

"And those current importers are?"

Natasha's grin was toothy and way too wide. "Viper."

Holy Mother of Meteors! No wonder a group of heavies had shown up with violence on their mind. Viper was Kaleesh, one of the few females of a war-centric, reptilian race who'd managed to escape the harems of her world and make her way off planet. Known for doing whatever she needed to, including engaging in piracy and murder, to keep from having to return to her homeworld, Viper had managed to gather a crew of other reptilian and serpentine outcasts willing to follow her vision and orders. They called themselves the Serpent Squad, allowed only like species to join, but were not above using any handy mercenary or thug to handle the lesser jobs, like reminding a stupid human why he shouldn't cross her.

Clint didn't doubt for moment that Natasha was wrong or lying. But Chaos only knew how he wished she was. Or that Barney hadn't embraced so many of Jacques' worst ideas and traits. They weren't performers for a traveling show anymore, promising anything to get the rubes through the door. Even if the job for the Secret Empire could be managed in the time promised, (something he doubted or Natasha wouldn't have given him the heads up the way she had), Barney seemed to have forgotten they'd agreed to meet back up on Vuchelle because Jacques had already set up a deal with Batroc. (Not a good idea either, but Clint had little say in who they worked with. His job in this arrangement was to fly the ship and get them where they needed to go.)

So, instead of just getting on the bad side of Viper, they'd end up disappointing one of the customers too, or possibly both, and neither Batroc or the Secret Empire were good people to piss off.

"Jacques is going to kill Barney," Kate spat out.

Although Clint knew she didn't mean it literally, he wasn't so sure himself. Sure, Jacques normally believed that hurting someone was better than killing them, since once they were dead, they couldn't make up for the mistake or pay him back. But there had been one or two cases …

"Tell me Barney was only mouthing off in front of the Secret Empire's people, touting his baby brother's skill or something over drinks," Clint implored Natasha. "Tell me he didn't actually sign a contract."

"I promised never to lie to you, _malen'kiy yastreb_ ," she reminded him. "Not even to make you happy." She frowned, looking to Kate before turning a pointed gaze back Clint's direction.

He might not be able to actually read her mind, but that didn't mean he didn't know what she was thinking.

He and Natasha went back nearly as many years as he did with Jacques and Buck. She'd been his first crush when Jacques had brought him and Barney to Carson's troupe; the girl who could dance on the high wire or on the back of a Varactyl. She'd become his first love too. When that didn't last, she still had become his best friend and, more than once, she'd tried to get him to leave with her and he'd been so damn tempted. If it hadn't meant leaving Barney behind –

"Kate, maybe you better go set more extensive security measures on the ship, and arm yourself with more than your blaster."

And Kate knew him well enough to know he was getting rid of her for the moment, but she also knew him well enough to trust he was doing it for a reason beyond her being a woman and thinking she couldn't handle herself when trouble came. She nodded and jogged back up the ramp.

Natasha waited another minute or so, then spoke. "Viper respects – or fears – the Black Widow enough that I'm pretty sure I can convince her that she's not going to like what happens next if she moves against any of the _Carnival's_ crew, but it will take even her some time to call off her snakes. So you're going to have to be careful over the next few hours when you leave the ship."

Clint nodded, though they both knew he was going to have to find Buck and Jacques to warn them too. He figured he and Kate would be fine for the next hour or so, thanks to Fly – Phi – the Jedi, and now knowing why he might have a target on his back would let Clint respond more quickly and appropriately if someone confronted him again.

"Appreciate all of it, Tasha," he thanked her as he moved her direction. "I owe you," he added as he pulled her toward him in a hug.

"You and I don't keep ledger entries against one another," she reminded him in a fierce tone. "But if you insist, come with me this time."

"Soon, I promise. I just need a couple more good deals, so I can make sure Barney will be alright when I leave." Because she was right, it was time to get out. He'd keep enough of his savings so that he could come to Natasha as a partner, and turn the rest over to Barney for him to buy out of whatever Barney thought he still owed Jacques – or even buy in to a junior partnership with Jacques if Barney really thought he had a place with him and Buck.

"I will hold you to that, _"_ she said and took a step back, but not so far that they didn't keep their arms around each other's waist. "I give you two things for free, _yastreb_. One, Derek Bishop is considering putting out a bounty, not on his daughter, but on the crew that kidnapped her. All that is holding him back is proof, real or manufactured, that Jacques is a smuggler with ties to either the Hutts or the Stark Combine."

"The current Stark isn't a crook," Clint objected. He wasn't surprised about the rest of it, despite what he'd been telling Kate, but it made no sense to implicate Stark. Derek Bishop was also taking a risk going after something like this, since he was the one with ties to several criminal organizations, something just as well known in certain circles, but just as unproven as Jacques Duquesne's activities.  

Natasha shrugged. "Senator Bishop hates Tony Stark, not in the least because Stark had a relationship with the soon to be new Sera Bishop first. Who is with child, before you ask why he's going to marry one of Stark's cast-offs," she explained. "So he'd be happy to implicate Stark in anything sordid, such as kidnapping his no longer youngest child."

"He does know that Kate already hates him, and this isn't going to get her back."

"I doubt he cares beyond how having an estranged daughter makes him look weak. House arrest, a full-time minder, he could even send her off to something like the Sisterhood of the Glorious Radiance so he can be done with her, and I'm sure he's considering the viability and expense of those options and worse ones. You all need to be careful that you don't become sacrifices to his bid for more power and influence."

"Derek Bishop is an ass – a dangerous asshole, got it," Clint amended even as she slugged him in the shoulder. "I'll be careful," he then promised. "And I'll look out for Kate, though she doesn't need me to. She reminds me a lot of you when you were that age. Fierce, smooth, and oh so brave."

"Brave enough to get out before I did," Natasha agreed. "As for my second gift, he may be a Jedi, but Knight Coulson is still the Flynt you fell in love with on Neumex. Do not deny yourself your own happiness, just because he kept a part of him life from you. After all, you did the same."

"Nat – "

"No. If you knew everything about your friends, we'd be boring and you'd lose interest."

With that vaguely ominous note, Natasha gave Clint a final, breath-stealing squeeze before letting go and gathering up her headgear to disguise herself once more. Clint watched her walk out, amused as always, along with being amazed on how easily she transformed herself by adopting a stiff gait and swagger that, along with her full body armor, gave her an alien appearance in all sense of the word.

Once she disappeared, Clint let out a deep breath. With his current spate of luck, Barney would be the next one to nearly give him a heart attack by sneaking up on him, even though he wasn't due to make planetfall for several hours. He could have left Corellia the day before if he'd thought he had worked a game changing contract that would impress Jacques. Only had that happened, Barney would have been waiting dockside already, eager for Jacques' praise, and wanting it acknowledged before Jacques made a better deal here on Vuchelle.

No Barney. No anyone, other than the kids returning to stake out their spots to wait for other new arrivals, and the Rodian from before Phil had saved Clint's ass, along with the port master who'd obviously decided to wait until all bounty hunters and mercs had disappeared. Clint paid him off, no doubt being charged more than any of the other ships that had landed at the same time he had given what had almost happened. He also paid the Rodian, once more wishing he could give the kids like him all of his money or a real home –

"Mathata Rutu come thoon to get dirt," the Shistavanen announced her own return. "Pay?" she asked, furred hand raised with the palm showing.

Clint produced a coin and handed it over, surprised and pleased to see this group of kids had still done as he'd asked even after being scared off by Viper's hired thugs. "The rest when Master Gardener Rutu gets here," he told her. Like before, he didn't overpay despite wanting to, knowing that too much would make them targets of the bigger kids – or the kinds of adults that didn't deserve to keep breathing. Keeping the kids honest mattered too, at least in that Clint didn't want to encourage them to lie or cheat future customers. It was hard enough not to when you were starving and desperate, but doing it now led to doing it when they were older and not quite as desperate – led them to become another Jacques and doing it because it was easy. Assuming that they didn't cheat the wrong person and got a chance to grow up.

Two female Nautolans that looked alike enough to be twins, and looked to be equivalent to teens if they were human came over after the Shistavenen and her companions backed away. Clint had noticed them before, but they'd disappeared when Kate had been handing out treats.

"We can keep look for you," they offered. "Warn you if more of Viper's hires come back, or the PubSec show up."

Clint wasn't really worried about public security stepping in, but having lookouts would be useful. "Rate?"

"Five credits. Each."

"And how much to keep the third in your triad from going out and finding one of Viper's snakes and telling them we're still here?"

That question earned him twin grins of sharp teeth. "Twenty-five credits buys you four hours of no tell. Fifty and we'll make sure none of the other dock rats scamper out and turn you over."

"Fifty for six hours of full no tell _and_ look outs. If nothing bad happens, you'll get fifty more as a bonus," Clint countered.

"The two looked at each other, their head tentacles lifting in a complex pattern that Clint thought might be a form of communication, although he'd never spent enough time with a Nautolan to find out. One of them looked off behind Clint for a few long moments, the head tentacles moving again before she nodded slowly. "Thirty credits now. Twenty at end, plus bonus. Deal?"

"Deal."

Once more Clint counted out a handful of Republic credits, and a few spacer coins that had good value outside of the Core Worlds. He didn't expect to get the full six hours of attention from the kids, but he also didn't expect to be sold out to Viper right away. Barney should make it to Vuchelle midday, and Clint was counting on finding Jacques before that so it wouldn't just be his responsibility to look after the ship.

"Ho'Din inbound," came a shout just a few minutes later. Rutu's people, and it looked like all of Clint's trust in the kids was going to pay off.

"Kate, our buyers are here," he signaled once he confirmed for himself only Ho'Din made up the arriving party. "Go ahead and release the cargo ramp."

Clint wasn't particularly superstitious, but he gave the _Carnival_ a little rap and hoped the rest of the day would go as smoothly as the last half hour.

********

Although expected elsewhere, Phil shadowed the group he'd chased off as they headed off toward the ubiquitous surrounds of warehouses, salvages yards, bars, brothels, and transient beds that edged any spaceport in the Republic. He noted and was noted in turn by the ubiquitous sex workers of all genders and species, the homeless or simply opportunistic kids, and the guns for hire like the ones he followed. The lightsaber hanging from his utility belt said he wasn't an easy mark, and kept all but the kids from approaching, though a couple of the sex workers did call out. He tipped his head in acknowledgement and kept on moving.

Phil liked to think he didn't need his Jedi trappings to garner respect or at least wariness from all but the most foolish, but even a year ago he would have been fooling himself. In being merely human, unassuming unless provoked, and only average in appearance, he could be any worker; a bureaucrat, a travel arranger, a boot maker. He knew he was more, of course, and took pride in being a Jedi, in being a good, useful, _successful_ Jedi Knight, but he'd always thought the shadow of his master would hide his own accomplishments, even after he'd attained his knighthood, since Master Fury had attained a seat on the Jedi Council at the same time he'd cut Phil's padawan braid. All that changed, however, three years past during his mission on Neumex.

Before Neumex, Phil had thought of himself as Jedi first and last and without, to be honest, ever wondering who he might be as just a man. He'd been accepted to the temple on Chicago as a youngling before eventually transferring to Coruscant and into Nick Fury's hands for padawan training. He'd excelled in his studies, and performed well enough in his physical training to even take a couple of awards, although some of his luck there had been because other padawans had underestimated him by judging him by his appearance instead of looking through the Force. Still, he'd been a fine padawan and one of the first amongst his agemates to pass his trials and be granted the honor of becoming a knight so that he could continue the kind of work he and Master Fury did in the field on his own. Working undercover on Neumex, his entire focus had still been on the mission, the Force the only companion he needed.

Until he'd run into a spacer with captivating eyes, amazing arms, and a core of light and honesty that pulled at Phil like gravity. Until Clint Barton, pilot, smuggler and, quite likely, the one true love of Phil's life. For two standard weeks, Phil lived in the moment, more attuned to the Living Force than ever before, and for once valuing the man over the Jedi and the unifying side of the Force that normally helped him structure his thoughts and actions.

As surprising as those two weeks had been, discovering over the three years that had followed their time together that he retained much of his connection to both of the positive sides of the Force and so became a better Jedi, made the memories of Clint so much more valuable. Phil could almost believe they could work together, long-term. Was almost willing to ask, but it had only been ten days then, and now three years since they'd seen each other, and while Phil's feelings had only deepened, his only read of Clint in the dock had been shock and then gratitude, with perhaps just a touch of fond nostalgia. Nothing to base a future on.

Knowing he'd finally gotten a chance to help Clint out of tight spot as payback for the reverse on Neumex would have to be enough.

The ones who'd been threatening Clint entered one of the bars, making no move or effort to report in to whoever had hired them, or take their search elsewhere. Now that Clint had become aware someone was searching for him, Phil no longer felt the need to hover; he knew that Clint could look after himself and young Sar Bishop.

He left the dock environs and headed into Rystique proper. Most of the guilds housed themselves next to the Temple Zone, and the Galactic Finders were no different. Phil hired himself a cab to make the five mile journey, not concerned about the walk, but rather the time it would take.

Rystique was a growing city that looked like it belonged on a Mid or Expansion world than in the Outer Rim. Its permanent population counted in the tens of thousands instead of the tens of hundreds, with a modern infrastructure and several industries poised for growth. The populace was a healthy mix of species thanks to the spaceport and the transient occupancies. Vuchelle had been a colony world with no native sentient species, so while there was still a class structure, it had not developed a closed caste society as with so many other worlds. Being one of the prominent planets on the Braxant trade run, there was still conflict, of course, much of it deadly, but Vuchelle had not yet known war, and the Republic's Chancellor as well as the local government had big hopes for their world's future.

One thing that Vuchelle did not have was a permanent Jedi presence. So when the Finders Guild had requested one to come verify as well as help protect an artifact reputed to be from the Great Axis War and recently recovered from pirates, Phil had volunteered. He had the experience in working throughout the Outer Rim, and was something of an expert on the Axis War; particularly, the Allied warrior Steve Rogers and his Howling Commandos.

Before running across Clint again, Phil hadn't imagined wanting anything more than being involved in the recovery of something belonging to Rogers' or one of his commandos. Now, while he was still honored to be a part of restoring a hero's heritage, especially as Brk'lyn, Rogers' homeworld, had been either destroyed in the war or shrouded from detection and was now considered a lost world, Phil found his excitement muted. He removed his credit stick from the taxi's payment station, then removed himself from the taxi and took the front steps into the guild's local headquarters at a brisk walk.

Once inside, he presented the holodocuments Master Hand had sent with him to the reception droid and was directed to wait in a side room. Five minutes passed, and then ten, and while Phil could amuse himself either fantasizing about Clint or about just what might have been recovered, he instead found himself wondering how many others might have heard about the artifact, and why the Force became disturbed with that thought.

Just when he was about to go back out an address the droid again, the door opposite from him slammed open and a young Squib came rushing through.

"Ser Jedi! Welcome and thank you for coming!" she greeted him. "I be assistant Lew's al Dars'cee, to finder Fost'r al Jan'ee. Sar Fost'r hopes you will meet her in refuge room? Sar is not for chit talk," Sar Lew's added conspiratorially, complete with a furry hand blocking her mouth and wide, winking eyes although there was no one else in the room, nor any audio or visual recorders that Phil had found.

Sar Lew's wasn't the first Squib Phil had met or worked with. As a species, they tended to be about the most curious of all the current members of the Republic, and he'd found most of the younger ones had a great love of drama and saw conspiracies in even the smallest of matters.

"I would be most delighted to meet Sar Fost'r in the place of her choice," he responded as he rose to his feet, not much for chit talk himself, although he did see the value in it when dealing with unknowns.

He wasn't disappointed avoiding the typical ceremony, politics, or chest puffing that often took place when a Jedi was called in to help. All too often the Jedi were either resented, or they were superfluous and simply there to make someone else look better. Not so with Sar Fost'r, though, or so it seemed.

"Lead on, Sar Lew's. Please."

"Dars'cee, please, Ser Jedi.

"I be Couls'n el Phill'p," Phil further introduced himself in the manner of Dars'cee's people, which earned him a smile, but also a raised eyebrow.

"You are dangerous, Phill'p. I think I will stay with Jedi, to remind myself," she said fiercely.

Although she stood no taller than his elbows, Phil had a feeling Dars'cee was herself dangerous, at least when it came to protecting what she viewed as hers. Such as Sar Fost'r, no doubt.

He bowed in acknowledgement of her proclamation, regretting for a moment that he'd left his robes aboard the _Radiant_. He had a feeling Dars'cee would have appreciated the full formalities, if only to mock them later with her friends or family.

Following Dars'cee through the door she'd come through, Phil ended up in a long corridor filled with crossing hallways as well as a number of doors.  One of the recessed doorways thirty feet forward turned out to be a landing to a staircase. Dars'cee took the first step then stopped and turned her head to look back at him.

"Stairs okay, yes? Go down two levels. So if things go bad, building doesn't blow up."

"Stairs are fine." The precaution was a good idea too, although there would need to be more to the room he was being led to than just distance if the wrong thing 'went bad'.

After descending four sets of steps and two landings, Dars'cee continued down another long corridor before stopping in front of something that looked more like an airlock than a door, complete with an iris scanner. Using the scanner got them a keypad, and inputting a code into that revealed a palm scanner. A surprisingly complicated security setup, though given that the guild did get involved in more than simple lost and found situations, it obviously proved necessary. Phil wondered how often this level was accessed.

"Your hand print too, Ser Jedi. Please?" Dars'cee asked apologetically.

Since she looked like she expected him to argue, Phil simply did as she requested; no protests, no questions. She cocked her head and looked him over again, then nodded again. "Very dangerous because you look so tame."

Phil inclined his head and took it as a compliment, though even she wasn't sure if she meant it that way, according to the Force.

Incongruently considering all the security, Dars'cee next raised her hand and knocked on the door, side-eyeing Phil as if she again was expecting some kind of comment or protest. She said nothing though, just as he didn't, and they waited. After a noticeable time, she knocked once more, but this time she then gripped the handle and began turning it.

"May I assist?"

She nodded and took a step back to let Phil have sole access to the door. It opened quickly, needing barely any effort, and seeing what looked like a standard, near-empty lab room behind the door would have had Phil thinking he was being tricked or distracted, had the Force not abruptly swelled around him in caution.

A touch of the caution surrounded the woman inside. Jan'ee Fost'r, or more likely Jane Foster given she was human not Squib, was younger than Phil had expected; was petite and delicate looking in his eyes. Through the Force, she was much like her assistant, however, with her own well of hidden depths, fierce intelligence and dedication, and great love and loyalty to her partner. Should Phil threaten or cross either one of these women, he would have a fight on his hands.

And if one of them picked up the shield Finder Foster was studying, Phil got the feeling he'd lose.

By the Eternal, it was a shield. No, not a shield, but _his_ shield. Steve Rogers' own great weapon, the weapon that had won the war according to many. Even during the war, no one had been quite sure how Rogers had made Howard Stark's greatest invention work. Accounts told of it being both offensive as well as defensive, that it projected a small field beyond its physical dimensions when protection had been needed yet the field disappeared when it got thrown or used as a bludgeoning weapon. But it and its wielder, like the world they had come from, had disappeared just before the war's end, and Howard Stark had become a recluse.

At least one of the secrets of the shield was immediately obvious. As was the reason for the warning Phil had sensed through the Force. Whatever metal or composite the shield had been constructed from, the material itself either held or absorbed Force energy. In the hands of a Jedi like Steve Rogers, the shield would have been like an extension of his body and will.  

"Jan'ee! Is the Jedi."

Unlike most people, Sar Foster didn't even turn her head, though she did give a vague wave in their direction. Several pieces of diagnostic equipment surrounded her and the shield, and whatever test she was running was obviously more important than meeting a Jedi. Fortunately for Dars'cee's sake, given how she was twitching and making little chirps of distress, the test seemed to be finishing up, going by the Sar's body language and emotions. For himself, Phil was amused and, again, simply happy not to be an object of suspicion or awe.

"Jan'eeee!"

"Dars'ceeee!" Sar Foster mimicked Dars'cee, still without looking up from her work. "The Jedi is a Jedi. He, she, it, or they, understand waiting, or are at least too polite to show their discomfort or anger. What I'm doing is important to the both of us. And nearly done," she confirmed Phil's conclusion.

Still.

"Not to take away anything from your work, Sar Foster, but I can confirm from here that the piece is authentic."

That got Sar Foster's attention away from what she was doing. The intelligence he sensed in her blazed from eyes that narrowed upon looking at him. "There is no way you could know that – motherfucker," she abruptly swore and pounded her fist on the shield before looking mortified from what she'd done or, perhaps, from realizing what she'd actually said. "I .., ah …"

"We're not really priests in the sense that one might be offended by curses or swearing, Sar. I've said and been called worse."

She nodded and let a wry smile grace her face, though it shifted to something more mischievous as Dars'cee doubled over in bright laughter. Sar Foster quickly shifted her gaze from Phil to the young Squib.

"I'm afraid my spate of temper will have screwed up the calibration of the equipment, Dars'cee. Would you be a dear and fine-tune them again while the Jedi and I exchange some information? Please?"

Dars'cee's laughter turned into a whine, though she didn't do anything more than shoot both Sar Foster and Phil an annoyed look before heading into the room. Sar Foster pulled the shield off the work table and brought it with her as she moved past Dars'cee and then Phil to the closest door across the hall.

"We'll need your palm print here, too, Ser Jedi," Sar Foster said as she started through the same security procedures that had gotten Phil through the door of the first room.

Phil gave Dars'cee a last look and a quick thank you of appreciation for getting him this far, then crossed over to stand next to Sar Foster and press the plate to access the new room. This door spiraled away from a center point and revealed an office, though one most likely for single use access given it was bare of anything but basic furniture and a computer access point.

"You do realize," Sar Foster began as the door spiraled shut behind Phil, "it would make things much easier if you guys told us how to create equipment that could detect the Force. If one of you guys hadn't agreed to come out here, I would have had no choice but to say it was fake. More tests came up blank than gave me any useful information, and I can't attest to its age or its composition at all. If it's a metal, it's not one that matches any others in our database, and if it's an element, it's one the rest of the galaxy doesn't know about. But if it's a compound, it's just as unknown, and done by a process that no longer exists. Just because it's been in the hands of a known relic collector and matches most descriptions and a few images, doesn't mean it really once belonged to Steve Rogers."

"So, I'm guessing Anthony Stark turned down the guild's request to look at it? That's why we were called in?" Phil asked.

Sar Foster's expression was amused, yet bitter. "We can't even ask anymore," she told him. "A few years before I became part of the guild, there was apparently a treasure trove of artifacts attributed to his ancestor's creations. Tony Stark spent more than a month looking through what turned out to be a complete waste of time. Seventy-three fakes, misattributes, and pieces of junk. Two pieces that might have had Howard Stark's hand in them, and one Stark true invention, although apparently, Howard never got it to work. Tony Stark's guardian filed a claim against the guild for loss of profits for the time we kept Tony from his own research and inventions. The guild won in the sense that it didn't have to pay off the claim, but the judge sided with Stane in that it should have done more due diligence in identifying the origins of such items before calling Stark in. So now we need at least two additional organizations willing to also attest to something being Howard Stark's work before we can contact Tony Stark again."

"Who else have you contacted besides the Jedi?" Phil asked curiously.

Sar Foster's smile downturned even more. "No one. The guild doesn't want to pay fees to another guild, since this find wasn't on behest of someone else to foot the bill. I got called in to examine a cache taken off a thief after his arrest because of some hammer the Royal family of Asgard lost some time back. No one else involved recognized that the shield might be valuable, since few bother making a career out of studying extinct or vanished civilizations. There are too many thriving ones in the Republic to ignore for most to also worry about the dead ones. Most archeologists are local to their own worlds, after all."

"Or join your guild if they have wider ambitions."

"Or are Jedi who take up interesting hobbies," she countered. "I thought the only dead cultures you guys worried about were the Sith?"

"As a whole for the order, you're probably correct," Phil acknowledged. "Why Jedi fall or choose the darkside from the first is a concept we continually seek to understand. Why societies die out or become lost is another matter we strive to correct. Examples of these occurrences are required study and for myself, I chose to delve into the Axis War and what happened to Brk'lyn over the Jedi-Sith Wars. Rogers and the other Jedi found themselves fighting in a very different kind of war than those of the Order's past. Not to take away anything from all the other beings who fought, but those Jedi exemplified how an individual could make a difference in a conflict of millions. Including the one who fell to the darkside."

"Bucky Barnes," Sar Foster said softly, surprising Phil, as not many people remembered the Jedi who'd been Roger's partner, they only remembered the Sith, Darth Zimniy, who survived when Rogers had been lost.

"If Barnes could fall, any of us could. I devoted so much of my studies to them to make sure I wouldn't." And now Phil surprised himself, as he'd only ever told his master of his youngling fears and why Rogers and Barnes mattered so much.

"Would you like to hold the shield?"

More than anything, yet Phil was ready to decline. Sar Foster, however, didn't give him opportunity as she practically thrust it into his hands.

It was lighter than Phil expected, even in seeing how easily a petite woman like Sar Foster handled it. In Phil's hands, it sang with the Force, a low, sweet melody of welcome intertwined with mournful notes of melancholy – for being alone for so long, or perhaps for who it had lost. The colorful circles and star sigil painted across the front of the shield looked as bright as it must have been when Rogers held it, just another hint of magic in Stark's making.

"It seems garish against the panoply of Royal Houses and Senate emblems, or maybe it's just because it's so colorful and today's emblems are so muted," Sar Foster suggested. "I like it, though if I had a preference, I'd have gone with darker blues and reds. Do you know, do the colors have meaning?"

Phil shook his head. "I imagine it stood out on a battlefield, so perhaps it was to instill fear in the enemy. Or to give the Allies a rally point. If it had personal significance, perhaps the Stark heir might have record of why they were chosen, but his guardian is no more of fan of the Jedi than he is of the Finders, so I don't expect we'll be asking. There is some talk that the Chancellor wants to put together a display celebrating Rogers and his commandos, so perhaps then."

Sar Foster nodded and entered a few keystrokes. "I guess that's it, then. I've signed off on the transfer; the documents should be ready once we get upstairs. The shield is now yours, Ser Jedi."

"As much as I'd love to simply carry it, do you have something I can at least cover it with? As we've established, it is a beacon."

"There's the box we transported it in, but it's bulky and awkward for someone to carry. I suppose you do not want to send it to your ship by carrier?"

Phil shook his head. "Since it's now my responsibility to get it to Coruscant, I'd feel better if I kept my hands on it. Even just a cloth should work."

Sar Foster snapped her fingers and rose from her seat. "Give us just a minute," she requested before sticking her head out the door.

"Dars'cee, I need an extra-large gundark sack."

"Now?" she chirped back.

"Yes, now!" Sar Foster twisted her head over her shoulder. "Okay, maybe more than a minute."

***********

This not being the first time _Carnival_ landed on Vuchelle, or even the tenth, Clint had a good idea of where to look for Jacques and Buck. Like most of those who spent a lot of time in space, once they were on the ground, they started looking for the things the ship didn't provide, namely alcohol and trouble, not that they called it that. Both men were former performers and used to having a crowd look up to them, a desire that hadn't gone away when they'd left the stage behind. Dockside bars didn't have the right crowd – or maybe had too many beings looking for the same thing: commanding attention, either through tales, boasts, or fights. Rystique, being a city instead of just a port with services, offered a wider variety of watering holes, and a population who hadn't already heard all the stories.

He headed off toward the tourist zone once he and Kate finished with the Ho'Din. The bars there had a good mix of locals and rubes, the kind of people who might find a spacer's life exciting enough to buy a few rounds, and who didn't hide the bulk of their money in a different wallet. More well-to-do clientele also meant more interesting gossip and rumors; one only had to keep their ears open to learn about new opportunities.

Unfortunately, such places also frowned on weapons, though most didn't ban them outright. Clint found a bank of temporary storage lockers and shed all but a plain knife and his blaster. He hadn't gone so far as to dress up when he left the ship, but he had put on a clean shirt, and then a jacket to conceal some of his other weaponry; the jacket joined those additional weapons, as did the pouch with his share of the payment from the Ho'Din.

The second bar he entered, Clint heard Buck's distinctive, booming laugh. He used a group of five out for some sort of celebration to block him from view of the patrons while he checked out the front room and spotted his quarry. As Buck and Jacques weren't alone, it was a good thing Clint hadn't just headed toward them. One of the two human appearing men who sat across from Buck and Jacques had the distinctive red diamond facial tattoo of the Marauders; someone who wouldn't appreciate being interrupted, even by a member of Jacques' own crew.

The Marauder probably explained why it was a young, teal skinned Twi'lek sitting in Jacques lap; both Jacques and Buck preferred human companions, though neither of them were discriminate in preferring a gender. As the Twi'lek's lekku – no, her entire body – was elaborately tattooed with markings in silver and black that Clint recognized as Nal Huttese, and those markings and just a few strategic bands of cloth were all that covered her body, she was likely a slave. A gift for the night, which meant this meeting had been planned. And kept from Clint.

That was another excellent reason for remaining unseen by Jacques or the Marauder. Usually Jacques only kept secret the meetings Clint or Barney might object to, since accepting a job affected all of them. Kate didn't get a vote yet although she earned a full share. Clint suspected that Jacques still figured she'd bail on them soon, once they landed somewhere she decided would be a better place to live than a ship or on Coruscant.

Clint continued to use several clumps of people to maneuver to a position somewhat behind and aside from Jacques' table. He ordered coffee and prepared to wait until the current business concluded or an opportunity arose to catch Buck's eye – assuming it ever strayed from the kid pouring the drinks.

If Buck wasn't concerned about watching his and Jacques' back, the Marauder must have brought more than the guy who sat beside him as security. Well, that gave Clint something to do while he waited; see how many of them he could spot, and then speculate on whether he could take them.

He'd not worried about finding a seat close enough to hear their conversation, so when that's how it turned out, he didn't strain to pay attention, not until the word Jedi caught his ear.

"No bounty is worth going up against a Jedi, not to mention all the other idiots who think they can take one on," Jacques was scoffing.

"I'm surprised, my friend," the Marauder said in a silky voice that Clint distrusted instantly. "You're going to pass up a chance for eighty thousand credits? There are, after all, two of you. More if you decide to bring in your crew."

"Jacques, with that kind of money, we could – "

"You swear there is only the one Jedi. No PubSec along with him, or guards of the Chancellor? No one from the Finders?"

With the mention of the Finders, Clint couldn't pretend they weren't talking about Phil. Or pretend he didn't know both what Buck's statement and Jacques' questions meant. For eighty thousand credits, Jacques would kill even the Chancellor.

" – you say, it will only be the other idiots also after the open bounty. But if you play them right, you let them do the killing – or at least wear the Jedi down – then swoop in and take the artifact yourself, from whoever has it. You then bring it back to me and the tw – and we'll meet with Hammer together, turn it over, and get paid enough that you could retire to any world you desired."

"If he's willing to pay that much for a single item, he'll be willing to pay more. Someone else would be willing too, I bet – "

Clint had heard enough. More than enough. Natasha, as always, had been right. He'd overlooked a lot of things in the twenty years he'd flown with Jacques, but murder for hire was definitely Clint's limit, even if it hadn't been Phil they were talking about killing.

He stood, dropped a few credits on the table for his mostly untouched coffee, and headed for the exit he'd already scoped out on the back wall. It might lead only to a refuse bin, but he'd seen stars when one of the waitresses had opened it, and this building itself was only a couple stories tall, nothing Clint couldn't climb if he had to. The hotel next door had balconies that led to as many exits as it had sleeping rooms, not that Clint had the time to waste to find one that had an unlocked door leading in.

Fortunately, the back of the building edged an alleyway. Clint only had to keep to the shadows for a couple of buildings before he could move to a larger thoroughfare, just in case he had the misfortune of Jacques and Buck being so eager to get underway that they'd left just after he had. For a moment, he debated leaving his things in the rental locker, but he might need every weapon he owned if he was going to help Phil fight off any number of scavengers and scum. Plus, his jacket held an emergency tracker; basically a panic button that sent a pulse signal to Natasha's ship and told her he was ready to get out. Getting to the locker wouldn't take him far out of the way.

He intended to turn the tracker over to Kate and have Natasha get her off planet since he couldn't bring her with him when he went to find Phil. Or, in good conscience, allow her to stay as crew with Jacques and Buck. It would be bad enough abandoning Barney. At least he could leave his brother a note, along with the passcode for his savings. Barney had the experience that Kate didn't, and would find a way to land on his feet.

While Clint considered himself good at strategizing on the fly, normally he was _actually_ flying when a plan went to shit. Running into one of Viper's lieutenants, an Epicanthix humanoid prick who went by the name of Boomerang, like his weapon of choice, and who was head _and_ shoulders taller than Clint, was a whole different matter.

He and _Fred_ had been something of rivals when they were young and both on the entertainment circuit, Clint with Carson's Galactic Carnival of Wonders, and Fred with Tiboldt's Circus, so Clint was familiar with the sound of Fred's boomerangs, even in such an out of place venue as the streets of Rystique. He dropped and rolled into a nearby recessed doorway, knowing that Fred threw almost as accurately with his off hand as he was his dominant one – knowing that Fred threw the first one high and the immediate follow-up low, just in case you did know enough to duck.

"Viper's called the contract off, Fred!" He yelled out, even as boomerang three and four hit the framework of the doorway. "She's not going to like you messing things up."

"It's Boomerang, _Hawkeye_ , and Viper understands about things being personal. She's not going to care if I take out some nerf-loving dock rat."

Talking seemed to replace throwing for the moment. Clint didn't believe he'd talk his way out, however. Not unless he changed the game. Even then, he doubted he'd get away unscathed.

The two of them, along with a merc named Wllm X, one who called himself P.Dexter, and a Clawdite shifter who was simply known as Masters, were supposed to be the best non-Force enhanced marksmen in the Outer Rim, and even Clint had played the fame of 'who was really the best' a time or two, though he'd never been the one who originated a challenge. He'd lost the hearing he'd been born with going up against Wllm X, and he and the shifter had never done anything more than tie, but Clint was still alive after contests against P. Dexter, which was more than most could say, and Fred had never beaten him in accuracy, even when they'd been kids, with Fred having several more years of training as well as his greater size and strength over Clint.

If he had the time, Clint would be happy to remind Fred that in the end, Hawkeye had always been better than Boomerang.

But he didn't. Luckily, he still had a hole card that just might scare Fred into backing off.

"Viper might not have minded yesterday, or won't tomorrow, but today, that contract was bought out by the Black Widow," he tried. "Are you really so desperate to get your ass kicked, that you'd chance whatever Viper decides she has to do to you, if you mess that up?"

"No way someone like the Widow would take up on contract on a little shit like you, Barton. Not even to kill you. Not when so many of us are willing to do it for free."

And, so much for that.

Clint supposed he should be happy in knowing that Natasha would definitely put this idiot down if he got killed. That wouldn't help Phil, though. Clint also didn't really want to start Tasha down a bloody path of vengeance when she could find targets and trouble enough on her own.

Only it looked like Fred intended to make it easy on Clint – he apparently decided to beat – and beat on – Clint directly, going by the stream of taunts and mutterings about the past, that got louder as Fred came closer. If Fred wanted to use his fists instead of his weapons, Clint wasn't going to complain now, though he reserved the right to do so later, when he had an audience, assuming all went to his new plan. He also had no intention of fighting honorably or some such shit; just because Fred wanted to do it up close and personal, didn't mean he would stop before killing Clint.

"Hiding just like the borcatu scavenger you are, Barton. In the trash and shadows instead of facing me. Do I have to issue a formal challenge to get you to come out? I always knew you cheated back then; that you were afraid to go up against me fairly – "

"And I always knew you were all talk and no show, _Fred_."

Clint had used the handle on the door to give himself a boost upward so he could wedge himself into the upper corner. As Fred swept into the doorway, razor-edged boomerangs in both hands, Clint dropped, and dropped his retractable batons from where they were sheathed along his forearms into both of his own hands. His feet came down on Fred's back, sending him pitching even further forward, while Clint rolled down his elongated body and landed in a crouch. He instantly swung the batons up and in to crunch against Fred's legs, hoping to strike Fred's knees. The Epicanthix was even taller than Clint remembered from a few years back, though, so he only hit his calves. That still had Fred stumbling, but not down.

 Just as much a brawler as Clint, Fred kicked a leg back while he fell, catching Clint's cheek with a boot, hard enough to snap Clint's head back and likely leave a hell of a bruise. A backhanded swipe followed and suddenly Clint was scrambling back to avoid getting cut. Not just taller, but Fred's reach had lengthened, especially with a boomerang in hand. The swipe also gave Fred time to regain his balance and turn around. He charged just as Clint rose from his crouch. Swinging both of his arms at Clint, Fred released one of his weapons in a throw and kept the other to use as a blade.

Clint blocked both with his batons, sending the flying boomerang skittering out onto the street. That left him vulnerable to Fred's charge, taking a shoulder into his sternum. He knew how to fall and managed to avoid giving himself a concussion, barely, by taking the hit against the concrete against his right shoulder hard enough to lose hold of that baton from numb fingers.

"Look at the little gutter rat," Fred said, laughing darkly as he followed Clint down. He loomed with his remaining blade poised over Clint's neck as Clint tried to catch his stolen breath. "I'll break you, cut you, but don't worry, I won't kill you. I won't even cut off your hands. I think, instead, I'll just slice the tendons in your shoulders," he taunted and moved the blade to match his words though he only pressed down hard enough that the edge cut material and skin just hard enough to draw blood from Clint's weakened right.

"Your shoulders, your elbows, and then your wrists," Fred continued, caught up in his revenge fantasy. "So your arms just fucking dangle, useless, just like you."

"Next time just do it instead of waxing fucking poetic about it," Clint growled and cracked his fist holding onto his remaining baton against the side of Fred's jaw. He pushed as Fred collapsed, so the fucking mynock wouldn’t land directly over him.

Fred reeled but still wasn't out, the bull-headed bastard.

This was exactly the kind of fight Clint had hoped to avoid; one where size mattered and stupidity didn't. Any kind of drawn out exchange and Clint would lose. Having to kill or at least seriously wound Fred to end it, and Clint would lose, having Fred, Viper, and Vuchelle law enforcement after him. If he could just get a bit of distance between them …

How in the fuck did Natasha win these kind of fights against her much larger opponents!?

Right. Her feet and her flexibility. Both of which Clint had too.

While he could think of better reasons to fold himself in half, Clint got his left knee up near his shoulder even with his right still trapped under Fred's body, and kicked out against Fred's shoulder and then Fred's neck as Clint drew his boot back to aim again. That earned him a whine as well as a grunt from Fred, and pushed Fred off enough that Clint could twist the rest of his body free. This time he got both feet up and kicked Fred in the jaw again, while he backhanded Fred with the also freed baton to the neck once more.

Fred bellowed in pain and anger. Clint threw himself into a reverse shoulder roll and then a crouch, dropping the baton and reaching into his belt for something else Natasha had given him along with the tracker. Even one handed with two projectiles Clint's aim was true. Targeting the twin discs on Fred's upper shoulder and below his rib cage for maximum effect, their electric charges expended on contact and chased around Fred's torso. As one disc pumped enough temporary high voltage to stun a human, two proved sufficient to paralyze Fred save for his twitching and stuttered breaths.

"Remember this, Freddie," Clint spoke as recovered the shock discs and then dragged Fred back into the recessed doorway so he wouldn't be immediately visible if someone came by. "I could have killed you right now, or just left your _useless_ body out on the street for the scavengers to find. Come after me or mine again and I won't be so generous."

Banged up but not enough to slow him down, Clint moved out of the back alley warrens to the thoroughfare and jogged toward the locker. He'd lost maybe ten minutes in the fight, but little else. Sure, his face hurt a lot and was no doubt already turning colors and he likely had the beginnings of a black eye, but Fred's boot had missed his nose. Living with a broken one was never fun, not to mention he'd be looking a sight bloodier had it happened. Black eyes and bruises were commonplace enough that he didn't expect to be bothered by good-intentioned bystanders or law enforcement and have more of the time he didn't have eaten up. The dull ache in his shoulder was more problematic, but he could move it now, and while the nerves in his fingers burned, that meant blood flow was getting restored. He'd be able to use the weapons he was rearming himself with as he emptied the locker.

That done, Clint was tempted by the thought of heading toward the Finder's Guild and, hopefully, Phil instead of the ship. Once he activated the tracker, Natasha could find him on the streets as easily as she could the ship, and having her help against those coming for Phil couldn't hurt. Only he had no guarantee that Phil wasn't already on his way back to the _Radiant_ or, hell, somewhere more comfortable to get some sleep. Nor would it be fair to involve Natasha in a fight when she was expecting a retrieval.

As it was, he had a good chance of running into Natasha before he made it back to Kate and the _Carnival_ even heading there directly. Depending on how close to the ship they were if that happened, he could just send Natasha on while he tried to find Phil. Even without explaining things to her, Clint thought Kate trusted him enough to go just on Natasha's word. And if she decided to be stubborn, Natasha could certainly either change Kate's mind, or force the issue.

There would be fallout, but Clint figured it would be all on him, and that might not be the worst thing to happen anyway. Kate had signed on to a trader crew, not a hunter's. Assuming Natasha would even let her stay after they got away from Jacques and Vuchelle.

Clint didn't run across Natasha first.

"Barney! Barney! Hey Asshole!"

Just a few blocks from the port and a block ahead of Clint, Barney stopped and turned. His face lit up when he saw Clint. He jogged over, his expression turning to concern once he got a better look, though it was quickly masked by amused disdain.

"Whoa, little brother. Whose boot did you get on the wrong end of?"

Like Clint was the one who got into bar fights for the sheer fun of it and not because he felt some sort of obligation to bail his brother or fellow crew member out.

"Fred Meyers. You know, Boomerang from Tiboldt's? The one who joined up with Viper a few years back," Clint answered, delivering a left hook at the same time that would end up giving Barney a matching black-eye, and put him on the ground.

"Yeah, okay, maybe I deserved that, brat," Barney admitted, raising his hand up for Clint to take.

Clint did, and ducked even as he pulled Barney to his feet, knowing his brother too well and anticipating the retaliatory swing of Barney's fist. He rammed an elbow against Barney's back and sent him back down again.

"I don't have time for this, asshole," Clint spat. " _We_ don't have time for this. It's time to get out. To leave _Carnival_."

"I never took you for a mynock, little brother," Barney snarled between coughs and trying to catch the breath Clint had knocked out of him. "We can handle Viper." He got to his feet on his own this time, and knew enough not to throw another punch.

Clint shook his head. "It's not just Viper, or the Secret Empire, or every other dumb thing you've got lined up that never quite works out," he said, regretting the last bit, but then he was still angry at Barney. "Jacques has found his big score, one big enough that I'll be surprised if he's willing to share it even with Buck. Eighty thousand credits to retrieve something and all he has to do is kill the Jedi who has it."

"Okay, yeah," Barney nodded, giving Clint hope. Until his next words. "That's going to be tougher than dealing with Viper's crew, but we can manage it. Jacques is family. He isn't going to leave us behind or cut us out. Not if we're willing to help. If it's against a Jedi, he's going to need us."

Clint felt like he'd used one of the shock discs on himself. "Barney? We don't kill – fine, we don't murder!" he revised when Barney rolled his eyes. "You promised there were some things we'd never do."

"Fuck, Clint, I was ten when I made that promise," Barney yelled. "No killing, no whoring, and boy, was that a mistake. I could have bought my own ship for the credits I was offered for you before you reached your maturity."

He said the last as more of an aside to himself, but it just drove the knife if felt like was in Clint's gut deeper.

"But I kept those stupid promises, for plenty long enough. We're not kids anymore. You know just as well as I do that life is as cheap now as when our folks died. I want to do more than just fucking survive, Clint," he said, sounding abruptly tired and maybe with just a little of the grief that Clint felt. "With our cut of this job and what you've got saved that you think you've hidden from me, we'll have enough to disappear somewhere the Jedi will never look. We can even leave Jacques and Buck after, if that's what you really want. Your hands are already as red as your pretty little bounty hunter. What's the deal with just one more?"

"I won't commit murder."

"Fine, then just pilot the damn ship. I'll get a bigger cut and it will still be enough for us to go out on our own. You can even bring Kit along."

To hear Barney trying to bargain with him was worse than the digs and putdowns; Clint had heard those all his life because Barney didn't know any other way to relate to someone but through competition. It was almost worse than hearing how little the idea of killing someone bothered Barney. In his own twisted way, Barney didn't want to have this divide them anymore than Clint did. _They_ were family, whether that concept really extended to Jacques and Buck, and for so many years they were all each other had.

The trouble was, the divide between them was more than even this conflict.

"I can't, Barney. I'm sorry."

Part of Clint's apology was a goodbye, and was for not recognizing their disconnect in time to fix it. It was also for the much harder punch Clint threw. Barney, at least, had a glass jaw.

He caught his brother as he crumpled, and tossed him over his shoulder, ignoring the physical pain but unable to ignore the pain he felt in his heart. He never wanted to leave like this, at odds with his brother and now unsure when or if they'd catch up again.

Despite the expense, Clint flagged down a droid manning a returning cargo hauler heading the direction of the port. He hoisted himself and Barney up onto the empty flatbed. Barney wouldn’t be out for long and Clint couldn't afford the muscle burn to take him all the way back to the ship by foot, plus he still had to check that Natasha got Kate clear, as well as clear his own bunk and stash his belongings somewhere before finding Phil before Jacques and Buck did.

********

Phil bade goodbye to Sars Lew's and Foster, thanking them both for their efforts and making sure that they knew they could contact him directly through the temple on Coruscant if they needed his help; either for something they were looking for or found, or even a personal favor at this point. He rather thought the Senate should give them a medal for their recovery of Steve Rogers' shield, but while it was an important artifact and a relic of an important war, Phil also know his own interests were not matched. The only wars the Senate concerned themselves with were recent ones, or pending ones, no matter how short-sighted a strategy that might prove.

If nothing else, the repeating wars between the Jedi and their fallen brethren were telling examples of how slights and differences of the past still had root in today's problems. Although the Hydra of today was mostly a collection of outcasts and pirates who delighted in railing against Galactic authority, Phil had little doubt that one day in the future, there would come a leader who again would chose to fight against the Republic, in hopes of bringing about his own vision of the future. Perhaps the shield on display amongst a tribute to the Howling Commandos would provide a reminder of what could come.

The mild sense of the Force that Phil had felt as a caution inside the building, exploded into a warning of danger once Phil stepped outside the guild building. Not of imminent threat, no, but one that lay ahead of him. His intent upon his arrival had been to get to the Guild quickly, but he'd had no reason to believe his work there would go so quickly or easily.

He had not been _Radiant's_ only passenger, nor the only one scheduled to return to Coruscant on the ship, so their schedule called for _Radiant_ to remain planetside for two days and to lift on the afternoon of the third. With the Force telling him he wasn't going to get his three days, Phil wasn't even certain he could secure the artifact on board, at least not without endangering the crew. Returning inside the Guild building was also out, as other than the sector security personnel who'd taken part in the raid that recovered the artifact, and the pirate it had been recovered from – and potentially a buyer, Phil supposed – members of the Finder's Guild were the only others outside the Jedi who knew something extraordinary had been found. Even if the breach of security hadn't come from the Finders, taking refuge there would endanger them as much as returning to the _Radiant_ would its crew. If word had somehow gotten out that the find was suspected to have been crafted by Howard Stark, no matter where Phil headed, he'd be bringing danger with him.

He needed a ship. He couldn't help but think of Clint along with that, the regret flooding through him that he wouldn't have a chance to make further contact. But he could no more endanger Clint than he would anyone else, and as he knew nothing about the crew Clint flew with, hiring them to take him to Coruscant immediately didn't feel like a workable option no matter how much he might have hoped. He best bet would be to involve the local authorities, the government, or even Vuchelle's military. While Jedi didn't have their usual free rein to commandeer bodies and ships here in the Outer Rim, Vuchelle wanted very much to be one of the next worlds accepted into the Galactic Senate, and they at least had the resources that if Phil did talk them into to helping, he wouldn't be leaving the city open to marauders or other lawlessness.

The idea of taking a cab to the nearest full security station felt even worse than making the trek on foot. At least in being out in the open, he'd have a clearer view as well as a sense of trouble approaching, and could keep to the lesser traveled streets to minimize the danger to innocents. Of course, using the back ways through the city would attract its own attention, something he needed to minimize as best he could.

The leather tote he'd been given for holding the shield looked like a typical spacer's kit, but Phil looked like a Jedi, not a spacer. A quick duck into an empty room in a nearby hostel run by the various local guilds to temporarily house petitioners or applicants had Phil removing his surcoat, outer tunic, and his over shirt, then the obi under his utility belt. Reversing the over shirt and obi to show embroidered patterns, Phil tied the obi like a sash and tucked the surcoat and outer tunic in with the shield. It wasn't perfect, but at least he now looked somewhat like former military once he tucked his lightsaber into a specially crafted pull-apart pocket in his boot so that only a couple inches of the hilt was visible. As a knife, no one would question its presence, but Phil still needed a gun to sell the look, and maybe a little more dishevelment.

It was with only a modicum of regret that Phil took what he needed from the public bathing area and a lock that didn't stand up to his manipulation. He left a credit stick of enough value to replace the blaster, though perhaps not one quite as nice, nor one with the custom mods, but needs must. At least the gun belt looked compatible with the embroidery, both styled similar to Nabooian filigree.

He'd worn something similar on Neumex, that connection only now coming clear to him as the reason for the style he'd commissioned in his last few sets of field tunics. While most Jedi working outside the Core Worlds made sure their garb served dual purposes for those worlds that didn't welcome their presence, the actual colors or styling generally reflected a Jedi's homeworld or, in his master's case, Fury wore black on black on black, with his reverse colors being black. At least Fury's ankle-length surcoat made look more like an assassin or pirate than a Sith since he forwent a typical Jedi's robes. (Not that he didn't scare Jedi younglings and most civilians alike, regardless.) The colors and patterns of Phil's homeworld turned him into a Coruscant administrator, however, which did not work in the Outer Rim or while undercover trying to track down slavers and illegal spice traders.

As prepared as he could hope for, Phil left the hostel, after giving a local map once last study to make sure he knew where he was heading.

Like many cities, Rystique's different zones formed wedges of a pie. Using the spaceport as the prime zone, portside businesses had grown out to either side, then tourists sections, residential, and the single temple/guild zone, opposite from the port. Governmental offices and high end residential comprised the middle of the city, with a torus of merchants and offices outside of that. Heavy manufacturing happened beyond the port wedge, with lighter manufacturing, industrial businesses and warehousing comprising the rest of the outer rim of the city; the agriculture combines then spreading out into the forest and plains that surrounded Rystique. Services, such as medical, banking, and security, were scattered amongst all of the zones, though many of the security offices were small and droid controlled, not the type that Phil needed.

The closest one that might serve was in the government zone. Dusk was imminent, however, which meant most of the workers would be heading toward their homes, and that meant a lot more people Phil would have to move through to get there. The next closest with officers as well as droids was at the edge of the temple zone and an industrial complex. Fewer people, but also the farthest away from the spaceport and still in the city. The third clos –

By the Force's sake, he was an utter fool.

They didn't call themselves a guild, but soldiers needed training, as did law enforcement. Rystique would have an academy and a citadel, both of them most likely nearby the bounty hunters guild, since the three professions so often drew from the same type of applicants. Having made contact with a Jedi ally who worked as a bounty hunter in the past, Phil knew that guild was only three streets north of his position and five to the west.

The first major threat, Phil avoided by virtue of a Force warning, and seeing them before they caught sight of him; the Anx topping not only his female Devaronian companion, but also the awning of the building they were waiting behind. He was not quite so lucky four blocks later, as the Twi`lek sniper had done a good job of blending behind the fluttering flags and banners adorning the first story roof of the musician's guild, and got a shot off before Phil had spotted him. Phil still blocked the shot with his saber in time, but if there were others nearby, both sounds were distinctive and would draw them toward him.

Another shot quickly followed, still from the same sniper at least, and again Phil blocked it, but unless he could move and get the right angle to deflect a new shot back at the shooter, all he was doing here was making himself a target for someone else. Using the purloined blaster to shoot back wasn't ideal; Phil didn't hold onto guilt for killing someone trying to kill him, but it was rare he had to resort to such final measures.

Shots three and four still proved no problem, the same with shot five, although that one had come from a different shooter. Advancing the entire time, Phil needed only to veer a few steps to the right and slice through the nearest supports struts of the overhang the sniper had housed himself on, then roll to avoid another shot from the attacker behind him as well as reach the second support on the far side of the entry. The roof collapsed with just a mild Force push to help it along. Phil rolled again to avoid getting caught up in the collapse. Using a stronger Force push to make sure the sniper ended up unconscious when landing against the ground, Phil then twisted and pushed a third time, taking out the new shooters feet and sending him to the ground – hard – too.

Okay, three attempts so quickly; someone either really wanted the shield, or really wanted him dead, not that Phil was aware of having crossed anyone with the kind of money that would have to be offered for most out-of-work mercs or opportunistic guns-for-hire to take on a Jedi. It was a consideration though, since the Force practically screamed to him that this wasn't over.

Phil ran, though he avoided using the Force to enhance his speed, as that could impair his ability to sense the next attack.

Turns out a Force-blind gundark could have sensed the next attack. Rounding a corner, Phil was faced with two personal-sized pulse cannons and the Fenris twins, bounty-hunters that Phil recognized from past business out on Mirial.

Okay, someone had a lot of credits to burn. Bounty hunters like the Fenris twins wouldn't normally take an open job like this one had to be – not against anyone, much less a Jedi. Sure, the Republic's reach into the Outer Rim was limited. The Jedi's too, compared to their presence and obligations in other sectors. It was because of that, that most worlds accepted bounty hunters plying their trade, as long as they and their work was guild sanctioned. And they didn't have murder charges lodged against them.

"You don't want to do this, Andrea. Andreas. Walk away now and I'll let this go," Phil offered, not bothering to try and influence their minds with anything but logic. Swaying someone with the Force only worked when they were distracted or weak-willed and neither of those were characteristics one would use to describe these two.

"No problem, Jedi," Andreas responded.

"Just leave the artifact and walk away first," Andrea finished.

Phil sighed. "You know I can't do that. If you knew what it was, you'd know _why_ I can't just turn it over."

"Is it really worth your life, Coulson?" Andrea asked, proving they'd recognized Phil in return.

"If it was a kid or something like that, sure," Andreas took over. "But your life for just a thing?"

"Is a thing worth your life, Andreas? Is it worth your sister's?" Phil could sense their resolve waver for just a moment with the thought of something happening to their other half. "If, somehow, I fail in stopping you from taking it, you're just making yourselves the next target," he pressed. "Do you really want to take my place and be hunted and fending for your lives every step you take?"

Of course, their closeness meant they could also shore up each other's fear. "There are two of us to fight," from Andreas.

"And it's a lot of credits. Too many to walk away from, Coulson."

Andrea's voice held a note of regret, though it might have just been because she still had some doubts, not because she didn't want to go up against a Jedi. She was the one who raised her weapon first. Andreas moved only a couple of seconds behind her, aiming his cannon to cover the side of the street Andrea had left open; the two of them leaving Phil with little opportunity to avoid getting hit.

Dammit. Aerial moves were really not Phil's strength, especially from a still position.

As both cannons began to whine with building charges, Phil rose onto the balls of his feet and started to drop them back flat along with bending his knees to give himself the barest of pushes. At the same time, he reached with the Force for whatever dust and dirt lay between him and the twins and lifted it into the air so it might disperse some of the energy when they fired. He then lifted himself into a flip that cleared Andreas line of fire with a couple inches to spare. Phil didn't try to land on his feet, instead tucking down and rolling, allowing the momentum to carry him toward some cover.

The cover wouldn't stand for long with both cannons firing. The Fenris twins were also not the only people Phil began sensing. While he could hope that the authorities might finally be heading his direction in response to what had in essence become a running battle down several streets, he couldn't count on it. It was time to change things, to take the offensive.

He was no marksman, but he could still shoot, just as he could wield his lightsaber in either hand. The problem was that the blaster had a shorter range than the pulse cannons, and they had double the rate of fire already, even if there had been only one of them. What he really needed was something that could take out both twins – or both cannons – at the same time –

He had something.

But dare he use it? Could he use it?

Phil dropped the bag and pulled it open, mindful that the twins were closing the distance since Phil hadn't done anything to fight back. The Force sang to him as he removed the shield, notes of harmony _and_ discord. He switched his saber to his left hand, knowing he'd need his dominant one to throw the shield for any hope of accuracy. While the Force could cover for many skills that were lacking, he was only a knight, not a master, who could see ten steps ahead as well as channel the Force to perform more than a couple of actions at a time and still be able to keep track of currents and movements beyond his regular senses.

Dashing from behind his disappearing cover, Phil's arm was already in motion when he stopped in front of the building. He let the shield fly, skimming it across the street to raise more debris into the air before it bounced up and sped toward the twins. Two pulses passed by him harmlessly and he deflected the next few when they shifted the aim. The shield hit, knocking the cannons from their hands as well as knocking the twins to the ground. It was only a partial success, however, because Andreas immediately started to push his way back to his feet.

Phil also discovered the flaw in his plan. He'd thrown the shield true enough, but he did not have the skill to do so and bank it off his environs to return to him. It now lay beyond the twins in the street, out in the open and available to be grabbed by the two humans Phil sensed approaching from beyond the shield. A third being had flanked him, and while Phil dove to avoid Andreas blaster fire, that put him in a direct line to the new shooter's trajectory.

This shooter had some sort of rapid-fire solid projectile weapon. Phil could block his bullets and Andreas' shots, could even manage to deflect the other two who were also armed and firing, but he was as out in the open as the shield and all it would take is just one getting through –

Andrea's did. She hadn't moved from where she'd fallen and had managed to mask her intent as well. Her shot needled through Phil's calf. He stumbled but managed to wrench the gun from her hand through the Force and toss it into the shadows growing on the other side of the street from the sun's setting. The other's renewed their fire. Phil deflected the shots, redirecting one blast into Andreas' gun. That had Andreas dropping it, but reaching down for yet another weapon, leaving Phil little choice but to reach for his own blaster.

He got his shot off before Andreas could. He'd aimed for Andreas' hand again, still not wanting to kill his foe and figuring the bounty hunters would be wearing some kind of body armor under their jackets. The bolt hit and Andreas went down, his hand probably gone, though Phil didn't have time to worry since there were still three active shooters.

He got hit again. This time it was one of the slugs, or maybe just the molten mess left over from it passing through Phil's saber blade as he deflecting too close to his own body and sliding across his arm. The wound burned, and hurt, but was less trouble than the hole in his leg. Too many of these, though –

Three active shooters abruptly became two, as the one with the slug thrower gave a cry and fell, clutching at the metal bolt sticking out of his arm. The two others began looking around for the new shooter that Phil had already placed, the stockier of the two pointing out the shadow of someone crouching behind part a raised portion of the rooftop of the building Phil had first taken cover from to his mustached partner.

"Fuck, Clint, you shot your brother," that man called out.

Even as he didn't believe it could be his Clint, Phil's couldn't stop his heart from lifting. If nothing else, it was someone who seemed willing to help him. And even if it was someone just eliminating the competition, Phil could handle one-on-one.

"Not using plasma, so if you take him back to the ship right now, he'll be fine," the voice Phil still dreamed about answered back.

"You going to shoot us too, boy?" the second man challenged. "You think you can get the both of us before one of us gets you? Don't forget, we're the ones who trained you to shoot."

"Don't forget, you walked away from Carson's because I ended up better than both of you," Clint yelled back. "Either of you lift your weapons again and I will shoot. This time I might not bother to make sure the plasma is off and just shoot a pure bolt. Don't think crippled is the way you want to retire."

Andrea, after seeing to her brother, was now using the distraction of the conversation to slowly crawl toward the shield. With night fallen and only a few lights still working, the others taken out from the firefight, she was mostly in shadow, as was the shield. They showed in Phil's Force sight though, the shield actually glowing. With the Force, he could grab it before she reached it, but Phil wasn't sure who would recover from that distraction first, Clint or one of his mentors. He did not want to be the reason Clint got hurt.

He wasn't, yet he was. Too fixated on Clint, the shield, and the tableau in front of him, Phil lost focus on the brother. The slug thrower spat again. Clint cried out, but could still aim his bowcaster. The second bolt pinned his brother's uninjured arm to the street, rendering him out of commission, but that gave everyone else the opportunity to fire.

Instead of pulling the shield toward himself, Phil flung it up toward Clint. Hopefully Clint had a weapon other than the bowcaster since it required two hands to use, but at least he could protect himself from further fire with the shield. Now thwarted of her goal, Andrea chose discretion over wealth. She sprinted back to her brother and began dragging him away, firing indiscriminately at everyone still standing lest they try and stop her. Both of Clint's mentors now had two weapons in their hand; the taller of the two aiming for Clint, while the stockier one charged and fired at Phil.

Mother of Chaos, so did someone else! From behind again, and where were the fucking PubSecs, or even the military if their citadel was only a couple of blocks from here!?

 _Ask and ye shall receive_ , wasn't that how the Corellians put it? Not that Phil had wanted the authorities to arrive and use undiscriminating weapons like stun grenades. While he deflected enough of the blast that it didn't put him out, the one that exploded next to him still left him disoriented and off balance, his sight and hearing temporally gone and leaving him only with the Force to sense what was going on.

The Force flared as something again landed next to him. He swung his saber around, realizing too late it wasn't a new threat. That it was a person – Clint. Phil dropped his saber in desperation, praying he'd done so in time.

"Whoa, sorry. I'll warn you next time. Here."

Clint voice again, though horribly muted through Phil's ringing ears. Clint thrust the saber hilt back into Phil's hand. Phil made sure it stayed off; at least until he could really see Clint again instead of just knowing he was next to him.

"Can you follow me?"

Phil nodded. "You weren't stunned?" he asked, as there seemed to be no hesitancy in Clint's movements. When Phil stumbled, his balance still off, Clint's hand was there again to set him right.

"Huddled behind the shield, though none of the grenades came very close to my position. They've set up a security net, but I think I can find the holes to get us out that I used to get into the area.

Phil wasn't so good a Jedi that he could dismiss all of his resentment in being used as a stalking horse, but he could also understand the thinking behind setting up a cordon that could net a large number of beings willing to steal from or kill a Jedi. It at least explained why he hadn't gotten any help until Clint, and why all the collateral damage was held to buildings and things without the addition of non-combatants.

"Shouldn't we just turn ourselves over to PubSec? They're not going to detain me and, of course, I'll vouch for you. I also have ownership papers for the shield – "

"The two who fired from behind you _were_ local law. The bounty for the shield is at least eighty thousand, though the guy Jacques was talking to was working as an arranger, so it's likely a hundred thousand or more, including his own fee. What does the average law enforcement make in a year, thirty-five, forty thousand credits? Maybe fifty for military, and only if they're up in ranks. I think the number of people we could trust when faced with that kind of payout is pretty limited."

"Do you know who is offering the bounty?" Phil asked, as he already knew the answer of whether he could trust Clint with that kind of payout. He'd _given_ Clint the shield, and a way out without having to drag someone along with him, had Clint any interest in collecting the bounty himself.

"Name I heard was no one I know. Hammer."

No doubt Justin Hammer, one of the Stark Combine's chief rivals. If Phil had to guess, Hammer thought he could reverse engineer the shield, get one up on Stark, and then turn it over to the Chancellor and win political points as well. While Hammer did have quite of few Republic contracts, he was also suspected of supplying weapons and other military equipment to whoever had the credits to buy, including Hydra, the Marauders, and the pirates of the Sinister Syndicate.

Looking into Hammer Industries, however, was something for another day.

"Clint," Phil stopped him for a moment, glad his normal senses were returning. "That was your brother and your … crew?"

Clint nodded.

"Are you –" He didn't say fine, because Phil knew Clint wasn't fine. He couldn't be after severing ties like that.

"I guess I should have locked Barney in a cargo crate or something and slowed down the guys from finding him so they could all come after you. Sorry. But I have another friend who will still help us," Clint said, no doubt using the vagueness of Phil's question to avoid answering it directly.

"I'm guessing the _Radiant_ is out?" he then asked "And, yes, I trust her with my life. With yours, too."

Phil could sense Clint's anxiousness, though even with his sight now fully restored, he didn't note any trace of it in Clint's stance or demeanor. He could also sense that the shield was humming again, similar to when he held it. He'd always heard there were Force –sensitives out there who could mask their connections to the Force, but he'd certainly never had any suspicions, even with how close he and Clint had been after they'd first met; had never even seen a hint that Clint might be one, other than how well they'd clicked. The shield couldn't lie, though. And the fact that Clint wasn't masking the shield's hum, led Phil to believe that Clint wasn't aware he was hiding his Force-sensitivity. He might not even be aware of it.

Another investigation for a different time, as they weren't out of the sarlacc pit yet.

"Where do we need to go?"

As he'd hoped, acquiescing to Clint's lead again dispelled much of Clint's concerns. Now that Phil was only impaired by his injuries and not the stun grenade, he could follow Clint much more easily and quickly. Clint used the shadows much as Phil would have, instinctually knowing how to avoid being seen by others, or maybe that was something else that Clint's mentors had taught him. They moved beyond the ring of PubSec officers and toward the outer edge of the city.

"I've got access to my friend's ship, which she hid out near the junk yard north of the dam," Clint finally said once the way felt open and clear.

"We'll have to swing back to the port to pick her up, or wait until she makes her way back if you decide that's safer. We figured she could keep an eye on your ship in case _you_ made your way back, while I tried to locate you within the city. Worst case, the two of you would board the _Radiant_ , and I'd pilot the _Widow's Bite_ to some rendezvous, once she let me know you were away."

" _The Widow's Bite_?" Phil couldn't help but ask. "Your friend is the Black Widow?"

"She's not going to want the bounty, Fly – Phil," he protested, this time looking back at Phil as he was still taking the lead. "Okay, yes, she's a bounty hunter, but a member of the guild in name only, and she only takes on the jobs she wants. They don't try to dictate to her."

No doubt because she wasn't a bounty hunter at all, although they allowed her that cover. Jedi intel said the Black Widow was actually an assassin, once the Blade of Komitet, the weapon of that world's rulers. It was thought she worked only for herself now, having disposed of her former liege, though Master Fury claimed she'd taken a contract for Chancellor Ellis a time or two when Phil had brought up going after her as an interesting mission during his padawan training. Not that the Chancellor employed assassins, of course.

He couldn't tell Clint all of that, however. At least not now. He had to trust that Clint had his reasons for trusting her; that she was happy playing bounty hunter for Clint and –

"Even if she does decide to go for the credits, she isn't going to go after you," Clint added. "She knows who you are to me. She'd also consider the challenge of besting you as important if not more than payout."

The latter part Phil could definitely believe from what little he did know of the Black Widow. He'd also already decided to trust Clint with all of this to baulk now, but part of what he'd just said …

"Who am I to you, Clint?"

Clint stopped, his whole face blushing, including his ears. "In my defense, you never got around to mentioning you were a Jedi on an undercover mission on Neumex," he said with a bit of challenge though not accusation in his tone. "And the things we did … Either your training is a lot more extensive, and prepares you for _all_ eventualities, or Jedi aren't the monks you let the rest of the Republic believe."

If Phil weren't a Jedi, it would be his turn to blush, but they were brought up without the embarrassments and discouragement so many cultures imposed on their own bodies and sexualities. For a Jedi, knowing themselves was as important as knowing the Force.

"The answers there are yes; yes, though not like you're thinking; and that it's more the other way around," Phil answered with a warm smile. "Most of the Republic has chosen to believe we are monks. We just don't bother convincing them that their assumptions are wrong. There may be some species that can live without sex but, overall, humans aren't one of them despite specific individuals and particular sects. Certainly _I'm_ not one of them. Nor is it asked of me."

Clint looked relieved, but also confused. "Aren't attachments forbidden?"

"Attachments are often discouraged, as they can lead to distractions, but in truth, Jedi are already predisposed to care – certainly for one another as is the case with the master with their padawan. Much of our training exists to help us judge and act without falling prey to our relationships or desires. To also help us keep going when such actions end up breaking one of those connections, such as through death or in just having to leave someone behind."

"Like how you walked away on Neumex."

Phil nodded. "I walked away because I knew you were becoming a distraction. My mission was more important than we were, no matter how much I might have wanted it differently. I walked into it knowing it might be the outcome, and that's why I asked right up front what you were looking for."

"And I said a diversion. Some fun, but nothing serious, nothing lasting. I never expected to fall for you."

"I'm sorry for the pain I caused you, but I can't regret my own," Phil admitted, taking a step closer. "I believe love matters, even for - especially for Jedi, even if that's no longer the most popular philosophy right now in the temple."

"If the masters object, you can always point out that if we hadn't met and gotten together on Neumex, I might not have done anything but try to warn you there was a contract out on this thing." Clint offered with a smile and then a narrowed look at the shield he still held in position.  "What in the hells of Chaos is this, anyway? I mean, I get it's a shield, but I can see how it could be thrown like a chakrum or even a boomerang and get it to come back to you. Only I've never seen anything like this before and if it really was that useful, being offensive as well as defensive, wouldn't they be sold from Tatooine to Coruscant? I think I could even throw it at a droideka and take one out."

If Phil needed any additional proof that Clint was Force-sensitive, he now had it, with Clint getting more from the shield than he had, though in his defense, he hadn't had the opportunity to hold it anywhere near as long as Clint was. They'd also trained to fight in very different manners, judging by the bowcaster that Clint had employed instead of the blaster at his hip. Beyond the strength needed to fire even a smaller, modified bowcaster from the Wookies' traditional version, aiming one was not nearly as easy as firing a blaster, calling for the same kind of spatial awareness of trajectories and environmental factors as throwing a boomerang or chakrum would.

"Let's get to the _Widow's Bite_ and then pick up your friend before we start filling each other in about our lives," Phil suggested. Now wasn't the time to get into the shield and what Clint was sensing from it

"And maybe see to your wounds," Clint suggested in return.

"I wouldn't say no to that either," Phil allowed, taking the opportunity to look Clint over with a more clinical eye now than a tactical or romantic one. A black eye, cracked cheekbone, and some shrapnel marks were what was visible, a few more aches and pains that Phil could sense but, thankfully, nothing serious.

As he finished his assessment, Clint suddenly closed the distance between them and kissed Phil, briefly, but with the kind of longing Phil had been feeling since seeing him at the port.

"Clint?"

Another blush overtook Clint. "We've still got about a mile to walk. But there are some cultures that believe a kiss makes what hurts feel better.

"Ah, yes. Kissing increases oxytocin which decreases stress and increases natural painkillers."

That earned him a narrowed side-eye from Clint. And a scornful, "Really, Phil?"

"Sure," Phil said, his lips quirking. "Let me show you."

This kiss was neither brief, nor medicinal. They both felt better afterward, regardless.

– finis –

 

 


	2. Cover ART

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream Casting: 
> 
> Kate Bishop: Mary Elizabeth Winstead circa Scott Pilgrim  
> Jacques Duquesne: Luke Evans  
> Barney Barton: Daniel Craig when he was younger and ginger

[](http://awit.com/AO3%20art%20files/2016%20feelschat_zpsggaz2ful.jpg.html)


End file.
